Patrick found The Mystery Bookshop on Regent Street just like Jeff Rayner said. Only a block west of his new apartment, it was awfully convenient. A sign posted out front coated in eggshell with gunmetal grey block letters told him that it had been open since 1969.
“Huh, looks more like a house than a business, though,” Patrick mumbled to no one in particular. He did a double-take at the bookstore and the rest of the neighbourhood. Seen some restoration at some point, too, since it looked slightly out of place next to the other historic buildings. Especially the pub on the southern corner across the street. Nevertheless, the restoration had been tastefully and respectfully done, utilizing architectural details on the pillars and light fixtures posted above the entryway. The main entrance was on the left-hand side of the building aligned next to two large windows on either side. Another door with a black door handle and knocker was at the right-hand side.
Maybe the owner lived upstairs? He wandered up the stone pathway, his footsteps crunching on the pebbles of salt de-icer scattered in the path. Most of the businesses in Old Town had apartments above their stores; the bookstore would probably be no different.
The inside of the store wasn’t large by any means, but it was substantial for an independent store. The rosewood colored wooden floors shimmered from the glare of the sunlight outside and eight-foot tall bookcases lined every inch of the walls. Spotted throughout the store were small tables of various shapes and sizes. Some were new and modern-looking, some were quite old, almost antiquarian in design.
A group of three older African-American women huddled in the corner browsing the bookcases. One of them with long, ash grey hair began to distance herself from the other two as he made his way further into the store.
“I’d like to see George and Rebecca remain as friends and I hope they bring Edna back at some point for George,” one of the other two women said. They were roughly both equal height, but one older than the other. The older one having short-cropped hair and the other, long salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail. Could these three be the Bryant’s family that Ava was referring to at the café? There were three of them, after all, and they looked like they could be related.
“She was the only love interest that worked for him as far as I’m concerned,” the same woman continued. “She wasn’t too out there and kept him grounded. He was a man with her, not an overgrown child.”
“I agree,” the older one said in return.
“Are you two nearly finished?” the third woman now called from several feet away. “I hear enough of this at home. I don’t need to hear it here, too. You got to be driving poor Perry here bananas with all this talk of, will they or won’t they.”
“That’s quite all right, Ann,” a man said, approaching from Patrick’s right. The man winked at Patrick as he passed him. “Here’s this week’s batch, by the way,” he continued saying in a hushed tone. He handed the woman named Ann a large brown paper bag with string handles. It looked heavy and nearly filled to the brim with small paperbacks. A few of them said Harlequin and Intrigue at the top of their covers.
The woman inspected a few of them discreetly and whispered, “Thanks, Perry.”
“Excuse me?” Patrick now asked the man before he had a chance to slink away.
“Something I can help you with?”
Patrick put him in his 40s and annoyingly pleasant. He wore dark-rimmed glasses on his round face. His dirty blond hair was styled with a bit of gel and formed an incredible wave on top that Patrick imagined the women in town must go nuts over. He couldn’t tell you why, but he looked for a wedding ring and didn’t see one.
Patrick gave him a not-so-subtle gesture to come aside so that they could talk out of earshot of the three women. “These three wouldn’t happen to be the Bryant Sisters, would they?”
The man smiled and glanced back over at the trio. “They would indeed. They shouldn’t be here much longer. Just stopping by for their weekly visit. They’re what we in the industry call ‘whale readers.’ They’re not bothering you, are they?”
“No, no, not at all. I just couldn’t help but overhear. What are they talking about? Town gossip?”
Perry looked over at the three sisters. “Murdoch Mysteries, I think. I don’t watch it myself, so I can’t say for sure. It’s not really my kind of show, but I’ve picked up on some of the characters names. Why?”
“Just curious. Someone I know was telling me about them earlier today. Was merely trying to put two and two together, is all.”
“I see. Yes, the Bryant’s do love their mysteries. Don’t get me wrong, they love some juicy town gossip, too, even if it does get them in trouble now and again. So, what can I do for you, Mr…?”
Patrick stuck out his hand. “Patrick Sullivan.”
“Perry Halliday,” the man said as they shook hands. “New to town or just visiting?”
“I’m new, yeah.”
“I thought so. I never forget a face.” He paused. “Anyway, are you looking for something in particular? This week I’ve had the new Ian Rankin, Sandra Brown, and a few others come in. Or, are you more into the old school stuff?”
Patrick tilted his head to one side. “The what, now?”
Perry walked toward the back of the store, saying, “The pulps. Hammett, Chandler, maybe some Chester Himes? Ever heard of Black Mask, Dime Detective, or Argosy? I’ve got some rare issues that I had someone pick up for me recently at a roadshow. She said she saw them and just knew that I’d need to have them. She was right.”
Patrick followed him to the row of bookcases. “I’ve heard of Hammett and Chandler, sure. Everybody knows them.”
“Of course. Everybody knows The Maltese Falcon. Who could forget Bogie, am I right? Well, if you’re into the hard-boiled stuff, there were a lot of them back in those days. These guys… they just pumped them out. Had to make a living somehow and they got paid by the word. I’m sure it was quite grueling work.”
Perry took a worn paperback off the shelf and held it out in front of him to look over. On the front was a voluptuous looking redhead that instantly reminded him of Ava. The woman wore a violet dress, posing with one hand on her hip and the other up by her head, like any femme fatale would back in those days. She even had a lit cigarette in her free hand. The tagline above the book title read, ‘She was a different kind of woman’. In the background, awash a blue watercolor tone, a man and the same woman embraced passionately on a sofa.
“Uh…” Patrick began, slightly embarrassed and confounded at Perry’s choice of book for him.
“I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t a romance novel.”
Patrick wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure what I had in mind, to be honest.”
“Not a problem. Usually I’m pretty good with my choices, but I must admit, you’re a bit harder for me to read. Well, feel free to look around. I’m sure you’ll find something. People always do.”
Just then, a chime sounded at the entrance, signifying that another customer had come into the store, and both he and Patrick turned their heads to look.
“I’ll be dam—” Patrick started to say.
But instead, Perry cut him off, saying, “Excuse me for one sec.”
It was her. Ava Blake had just entered the bookstore.
“Ava, darling,” Perry said, greeting her affectionately at the door. They hugged and gave each other pecks on the cheeks. Luckily, Perry pulled her off to the side allowing Patrick a moment to retreat somewhere out of sight.
He knelt, pretending to inspect some hardcovers on a lower shelf, while simultaneously hiding behind one of the display tables. He made sure his back was facing them in order to shield his face. Would it be enough?
“I haven’t seen you in ages, Ava,” he heard the owner say. “Where have you been hiding?”
“I’m sorry, Perry. I’ve been so busy lately. I was out of town last week trying to hunt down some rare finds for a client.”
“I see, I see.”
Patrick stole a quick look. They walked side by side as if they were on an evening stroll through downtown.
“So, what brings you in today?”
“I don’t know, Perry,” she said. “I felt like I needed to clear my head. I figured why not stop by and come see you. A good book is sure to take my mind off things, right? Isn’t that what you’re always trying to tell me?”
“Well, sure. It’s true, you know,” he told her. “What better way to lose yourself than to become someone else, right? To live in their world just for a little bit.”
They were growing closer now. Too close. He could hear their footsteps on the hardwood floor, the floor groaning underneath their weight.
What was he going to do?
Think, think.
“Say, have you met,” he heard him saying now.
No. Not now. Not here.
Too late. They’re right beside you.
“Mr. Sullivan, I’d like you to meet Ms. Ava Blake. She’s another local business owner.”
Patrick rose from his knees and turned around, forcing a smile.
Her mouth fell open.
“Ava, this is—” Perry looked to his right at Ava, his charismatic smile fading quickly.
Ava folded her arms across her chest and leaned back on one foot. Her lips were so tightly pursed together that Patrick was surprised that he even heard the words come out of her mouth. “We’ve met.”
“Oh,” Perry said. “I didn’t realize you two had met. I thought—”
Patrick shrugged. “Earlier today.”
Perry sheepishly began to step away as if he could sense danger. “Well, maybe I should…”
She took hold of Perry’s arm. “Stay right where you are, Perry. There’s something you should know about Mr. Sullivan.”
Patrick arced an eyebrow. Here it comes. What was she going to say?
“Watch out for this one, Perry. He’s got a mean streak to him.”
“Ava…” Patrick began.
“I don’t want to hear it, Patrick,” she said, turning away from him.
“Look,” Patrick pleaded for what felt like the tenth time today. “I can’t help it if maybe I overreacted a bit. But I mean, there’s a dead guy in my apartment. It’s not every day that—”
“Dead guy?” Perry asked, unblinking. He cast a look at her. “What’s he talking about, Ava?”
If she heard him, she made no sign of it, instead choosing to continue her verbal assault. “Overreacted a bit? A bit? You—”
“Ava?” Perry interrupted. “Is he talking about that murder over on Castlereagh?”
That got her attention. She spun back to Perry. “How do you know about that?”
“How do I…?” Perry started to say, confused and somewhat stunned. “Ava, this is Old Town. Everybody knows. Heck, I can even tell you who did it.”
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